


Thawed

by EurtemocMaerd



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: #bringbackhetalia2k19, Anko Family (Hetalia), Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Family Fluff, Frozen (2013) References, Hanatamago Family, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Memories, Norway Faroe and Iceland are siblings, Nostalgia, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Relationship(s), Regret, dadmark and morway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EurtemocMaerd/pseuds/EurtemocMaerd
Summary: "Denmark couldn’t help but wonder when those bright magenta eyes had become clouded with this mask of apathy. He vaguely remembered a time, perhaps too long ago, when everyone smiled. A time when there was nothing to conceal, to be guessed or second-guessed. This often resulted in brawls but they would've been, in turn, resolved in laughter and the reassured promise only family could give.He remembered a time when Norway smiled that way, side to side, eyes creased and cheeks all flustered. It was the same smile Iceland used to have, as did Faroe. One had a right dimple, another had both. Yet, it was only the left-dimpled beam he could clearly envision now, for her smile was the only one left. The one that never left.He took another chug to clear himself of the delusions. 'Wake up, old man,' his mind heaved. 'Let the past bury itself. Let it go.'"*******Once upon a time, someone challenged me to write a Nordic fic about how "Frozen", the Disney movie, was made.What started as a crackfic took a 90-degree turn and culminated into this bittersweet cloud of fluff, with too many references to "The Snow Queen" by HC Andersen, aka OG Frozen.Yoohoo! About time we thawed the frozen heart!





	Thawed

#####  **Present Day**

#####  **2011, California, 5:03 pm**

America sighed in vexation as he opened the door to the seaside suite, from which he could hear his sister scream like a flailing chicken throughout his five minute’s walk from the parking lot. He already knew what to expect, from the past decades of brainstorms and negotiations and conferences that all ended with someone flipping the table, trashing the room where it happens, before yeeting out as they flipped everyone off. Nine out of ten times it was California herself, in a manner that is at once characteristic and not very so. He sometimes wonders if the diva is bipolar, but who is he to judge anyway?

“It’s the fiftieth time we’ve been through this, guys. You can’t go on with this plot. It’s a fucking mess! It’s nothing like the original! Or any other way I would actually _want_ it to be!”

“Miss Jones, for God’s sake, you personally banned the “stick with the original” proposal because it was too boring and generic, remember?”

Well shit. This is going to be a long day.

Or so America thought, as he unlaced his shoes and changed into those weird looking house slippers Cali prepares for every business trip, a set for each potential guest and each set containing three pairs for formal, semi-formal and informal gatherings, respectively. She put the semi-formal ones out today.

So she’s finally given up, huh? America grimaced to himself. They used to always be formal.

“Al! Finally! Come over here and talk some sense into these old stuck-up white men!” The shrill clamour of Miss California reverberated and echoed of the walls and into the entryway, followed by her long tanned limbs, pulling her brother into a tight embrace of “take my side or else”, and her trademark wide sunny grin. Her eyes would be smiling too, along with the jocular jangling of her excessive gaudy accessories, but it’s hard to tell with the oversized sunglasses masking half her face. It certainly didn’t help that America’s skin is quite allergic to her explosive curls either.

“Newsflash, dude, I fit that criteria too. You can’t have me talk sense into myself.”

California stifled a laugh at the comment, sticking a petulant tongue at the nation before flinging herself onto the leather couch, causing great discomfort among the Animation Studios representatives, tensing shoulders and all. America smirked at the sight, and took his seat beside her.

“So, I know we’ve been on and off for, like, eighty years now, but still. How’s Anna and her Snow Queen doing?”

“Not much” was the response, complete with a good ol’ Californian eye roll, and accusing glares from the Disney dudes.

So… back in development hell, as expected.

“May I have a look at the designs and drafts and stuff? Just a peek will do, to get an idea of the thing, y’know?” He glanced at the papers and files piled on the coffee table, internally marvelling at the amazing vocation these men possess, even for a project that is seemingly going nowhere. He had only joined in the process around a decade ago, with his sister’s insistence, so he didn’t know much. Yet, he must admit that the project and its brains were undeniably impressive, and he would absolutely hate to see the ideas being sent to the trash rather than the silver screen.

“Sure thing, Mr Jones.”

Permission granted, America got to work, picking up each folder and scanning its contents with speed and precision. The creatives’ eyes fixated on his focused self, all eager and uncertain at once, as California leaned back in ennuie and took to scrolling her instagram feed.

No one knew how much time passed, only that by the time America set everything down, and got all his little post-it notes in the right places, the sun had pretty much set on the thriving West Coast. Literally, seeing as whoever is known to the humans as Miss Audrey Rebel Jones was lying face flat on the sofa and snoring like there was no tomorrow, her frizzy caramel-tinted mop camouflaging into the furniture’s skin.

“Dude! Those are actually pretty nice!” The nation yawned, and stretched himself. “But there’s two problems we must address for it to move forward and make the first bit of sense.”

Three pairs of eyes gleamed unanimously, signalling for the young man to continue.

“Well, first thing. The characters are kind of unrelatable. We don’t even know why the queen is a villain? And Anna’s personality may work in the thirties, and maybe the golden age too, but definitely not now. Too perfect, man. Oh, yeah, and we’ve sidelined the trolls. Maybe their roles aren’t the same as the original, but we should still give them something awesome to do, y’all.”

The men furrowed their brows and nodded their heads, each taking out a gadget or a notepad to jot down the commentary.

“Second… the setting’s too faraway. It’s like, I know it’s supposed to be a cold place and that’s probably Northern Europe, but that’s because I knew the story before and I know what you dudes want. It just doesn’t feel that way, man. Try going to IKEA and putting some of those furniture names or patterns into —”

An idea clicked in his mind. Damn. Why the hell had he never thought of that before?

Basically tearing his phone out of the pocket, he plunged into the (not so well thought out) plan. (But then again, when hasn’t he?)

**_Awesome Daring Dudes_ **

_no1hero, kohlerthanu, ichbingeil_

_no1hero is online_

_no1hero: YO DANELAND MA DUDE WHERE U AT_

_kohlerthanu is online_

_kohlerthanu: Aj for Satan amerika its 5 in the morning_

_kohlerthanu: And for the last time it’s Danmark kid show some respecc_

_no1hero: fine gramps_

_no1hero: but dude srsly where u gonna be at in 20 hours or sth?_

_kohlerthanu: Some forest near Bergen, depending on what Nor feels like_

_kohlerthanu: Why_

_no1hero: AWESOME DUDE GET BACK TO YA L8TER_

_kohlerthanu: Dafuq_

_no1hero is offline_

The Disney people are beyond bewildered now, but neither dared question Alfred F. Jones’ whims. They might not know enough to understand what he really is, but enough to keep their speculations of his eccentricities (as well as the other Joneses’) to themselves.’

He fidgeted with his smartphone some more, confirming transactions and all that jazz, then slapped his sister awake, deliberately ignoring her groggy sounds of protest. Eyes blazing, he turned back to the trio of producers and animators before him.

(The narrator sends their condolences to these poor humans)

“Alrighty dudes! We’re off to Norway! Midday plane, got it?”

“Wa– Alfred what the shit?!” California sprung up, her dishevelled bedhead and overreaction garnering the laughs of everyone else in the room.

“Yeah, get packing loser,” America grinned as widely as he could, just to annoy her. 

“We’re going on a field trip.”

* * *

#####  _**2011, Norway, 11:50 pm** _

“Hej, Nor, did you feel somethin’? ‘S’like, someone’s just crossed the borders. Maybe the girls are coming over after all,” Denmark shifted uncomfortably in the couch, carefully avoiding a passed out Iceland, whose curled up legs beneath the quilted blanket had been expanding their territory since twenty minutes earlier, now taking up five sixths of the cushioned seat, leaving almost no room for the Dane’s presence.

Silence.

Denmark bit his lip, partially in exasperation and a bit in annoyance. He knew that it would be futile to get Norway’s attention when he’s so absorbed in those thick volumes of philosophies and sagas. Hell, he’d bet with his life that even the impact of all of Iceland’s volcanoes erupting at once cannot tear that guy back into this dimension, holding other factors (like his lillebror’s wellbeing) out of the picture. Yeah, trying to pick up a conversation now would be mission impossible.

Looking around, he took in the interior of Norway’s refurbished lodging. To be fair, it’s been like this for ages, but it’s also been ages since the Nordics decided to spend their annual “family gathering” here, deep in the heart of nature, so he really can’t be blamed for not noticing these century-old modifications until now. Frankly, Denmark can’t be sure if he could leave this place without any guidance, being relatively unused to the humongous span of mountains and rivers and wildlife compared to the others. It’s nothing like his fort of a house in Copenhagen, with three wings and additional quarters and all in all spacious and almost palatial, or Sve’s similarly structured mega-IKEA, or Fin’s crazy maze of a sauna complex, and definitely not Ice’s experimental turf dodecahedron that looked like it could fall apart any minute. This house has never been anywhere near impressive, and Denmark could still remember how shocking and mildly appalling he found it on his first visit, all those years ago. Of course, there had been significant upgrades alleviating it from “ghetto” status. A simple two-storey wooden structure, plain but cosy, walls mounted with shelves of books and a hundred million blends of coffee, carpeted floors littered with warm-hued cushions. The windowsills are lined with growing herbs, and the mellow scent of pine, intertwined with angelica and mint and dill and bay, permeated the air. The only thing out of place is that entire fridge wholly dedicated to butter. Salted. Unsalted. Cultured. Clotted. Grass-fed. Sheep. Vegan. Margarine. You name it. It’s ridiculous, yes, but it feels Nor, and it feels home.

It’s beautiful, true, and he’s really glad to be here, but this boredom is unbearable! Sure, Ice deserves some quality, undisturbed rest after all that economic ruckus and resulting ceaseless all-nighters. He can’t figh— banter with Sweden because he’s slaughtering endermen and creepers upstairs with Åland, and of course Fin’s breaking the keyboard with them. He knows because Sealand has (finally) just been put to sleep (after about an hour of “I’m a Ninja Viking so I don’t need rest!”, and maybe five thunderous “HILJAA LAPSI!”s, among other things). Faroe and Greenland were spending their ladies’ night with Lapland, so they’re not here at all, and he had personally dropped Christiania off after she got too high on Ned’s weed. And Norway is reading. 

_Well, it could be worse_ , the Dane thought as he maneuvered his body out of what Iceland has now claimed as his bed and got up, heading to the open kitchen for the beer he’s left on the counter. The sleeper tossed and turned a little as Denmark watched an impeccably groomed Norwegian forest cat steal his place, with a regal presence rivalling that of a haughty empress. He would be lying to say he wasn’t surprised at the sight of the Carlsberg stock in the lowest cabinet upon entry, earlier this afternoon, having not been under the impression that Norway drank, let alone _his_ type of alcohol. He questioned his host on that matter, only answered to by a half-hearted shrug. Faroe’s eyes twinkled in that mischievous way indicative of untold knowledge, and he could feel Lapland’s lips twitching into a toothy smirk, but neither said anything, so he didn’t press. It’s nothing to be bothered about, really.

He chugged some more. Not too much. Just some. A wayward hand found its way to his forehead, absentmindedly combing his wild golden mane. From the butter fridge’s reflection he caught glimpses of its natural hue of auburn, and, somewhat defeated, decided on a quick bleach the day after. It had only been three weeks or so since the last session, but in the recent years his roots seemed to have taken on growth at an exponential speed. Perhaps he should go back to using lye. It seemed to have lasted longer back then. Of course, “back then” was centuries ago.

His gaze continued to pan lazily across the décor, taking in its warmth and lingering aroma, until it landed on the figure curled upon the patchwork couch, and the majestic fae-like feline stretched across those ever extending legs. An angelic halo framed the (rarely) serene complexion of the teenager sound asleep, so far away from the cares of the mortal world. So tranquil, that for a moment the brown frame morphed back into the tiny cherub he used to cradle snugly in his arms every night, whose large watery eyes and childish tempers he woke up to each passing day. Denmark couldn’t help but wonder when it had been that those bright magenta eyes, once full of infantile wonder, become clouded with this mask of apathy. He vaguely remembered a time, perhaps too long ago, when everyone smiled. No, not just smiled. Genuinely. Widely. There was a time, he believed, when there was nothing to conceal, nothing to be guessed or second-guessed. Everyone simply voiced their feelings without reserve, and while this often resulted in brawls they would have been, in turn, resolved in nothing but laughter and the reassured promise only the best of buddies, and the closest of families, could ever give.

He remembered a time when Norway smiled that way, side to side, eyes creased and cheeks all flustered. It was the same smile Iceland used to have, as did Faroe. One had a right dimple, another had both. Yet, it was only the left-dimpled beam he could clearly envision now, for her smile was the only one left. The one that never left.

He took another chug to clear himself of the delusions. _Wake up, old man,_ his mind heaved. _Let the past bury itself. Let it go._

His vision flickered for a moment, as it had often been wont to do, as he caught sight of the Norwegian nation, now even more deeply entranced within his own dreams. Denmark’s lips inadvertently curled upwards in utter adoration at the silver blond bangs falling over the stoic, pale face as Norway’s head lolled into his right shoulder, a strange déjà vu welling in his fluttering stomach. A part of him couldn’t help at his sojourning feelings, his centuries-old stupid and pathetic excuse of a crush. He knew the other never reciprocated whatever he had always been feeling for him, and that every chance he once had had been broken by his own mistakes and impulsivities throughout history and time. Mistakes so grave, that tore the family, if it ever was that way, into scattered shreds. He was lucky to still be seen as a friend, if not a mere acquaintance of the past. There was the demon in disguise that broke the magic troll-mirror and shattered it. There was the evil that delivered the ugly shards and froze the hearts of everyone he had ever loved and cared for. There was the fool who never realised the fatal consequences of his actions until it was too late. He had always been too late.

 _At least we’re all around now._ But it wasn’t true. Just empty words. Empty consolations of sleepless nights. They may be back together, but nothing had been the same. His frost had taken root in their calloused hearts over the millennium, and the smiles were no more. Even if they remained, the ones that never left, like Fin’s, or Faroe’s, or his own, there was a hollow quality to them. It was his responsibility to undo what he had sown, and a lot of times he took it upon himself to radiate the warmth he thought was needed to thaw the ice, but it was never enough, maybe even making things worse. The splinters in his own heart would gnaw at him, as would the suppressed darkness he had never been able to control when most needed. The Devil jeered at its victory as the Snow Queen impassionately watches on, firmly holding onto the captive hearts. He was the troll and they were Kai, but no Gerda was to salvage them.

He would give the most of his capacities to be the heroine that melts the frozen, but he, deep down, had always known how he had been damned from the start. For he was the one who broke the mirror. And he —

_I wanna be where the people are. I wanna see, wanna see them dancing ~~~~_

Jostled from his pondering, the Dane hurriedly rummages for his phone, the only possible source of such a ringtone, cursing himself for forgetting to put it on vibrate. He had always took care in doing so around his “brothers”, knowing their preference for either raging death metal or complete silence. Nothing in between.

_Up where they walk, up where they run, up where they stay all day in the sun ~~~~_

Pis! Where is that damned thing? 

From the corner of his eye Denmark could see the brothers stirring, and mentally braced himself for what is to come, as his hands and fingers nimbly darted across the countertops and shelves in search for that godforsaken device.

“... Dan?” Indigo eyes fluttered open. The other tossed around and returned to dreamland.

Crap.

“Ahh sorry bro! I, uh…” Damn it. No sign whatsoever. Just the emotional ballad repeating itself over and over. He bit his lip and grinned, sheepishly, idiotically. “I may have lost—“

“This?”

Lithe fingers curled over a thin piece of red string, dangling a weatherbeaten Nokia, still ringing with the mermaid’s aria, in front of him. He dumbly nodded, entirely enchanted by the wisp of a giggle that passed through the other nation’s lips, and the trail of those deep oceanic irises surveying the phone’s twice-cracked screen in amusement.

“Bror, what’s America calling you for in the middle of the night?” He vacantly observed, before pressing the green telephone icon and handing it back to its owner, offhandedly adding, “Nice ringtone, by the way.”

Denmark was prepared for the blush now spreading across his face, but (unfortunately) not so much what was to come from the other end of the mobile.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST DENMARK LET US IN!”

“What the hell Amerika?”

“YEAH EXACTLY DUDE WHAT THE HELL! TELL YOUR GIANT ROCK MOUNTAIN THING TO STOP THROWING US OUT OF THE GATES MAN!”

Okay. Now that’s a woman’s voice he couldn’t recognise. Same energy, big difference. One of that guy’s states?

“Go to sleep Amerika. It’s midnight. You’re drunk,” Denmark couldn’t be sure what to make of this phone call, but the calmness in his own tone was certainly a surprise. Maybe the fatigue was finally getting to him.

“NO! _YOU’RE_ DRUNK DUDE!”

A thought sparked in Denmark’s mind. A thought of a conversation the day before, exactly 20 hours ago. He still had no idea what was going on, alike Norway, whose confusion and irritation is becoming more and more apparent by the moment, but here’s an inkling.

“Amerika… where exactly are you now?”

It wasn’t after a few friendly exchanges of screams and tired inquiries that the older nation was able to figure out what happened, which he gladly explained to his… friend, when the latter cocked a questioning brow.

“Oh… so that’s why…” He trailed off, an otherworldly fog shrouding his mesmerising eyes. 

Denmark did not like that look. He never did, in fact, but learnt to get over it soon enough. Few nations knew, but this “off”-ness they often associated with his friend was pretty much acquired. Yes, Nor had always had a thing with nature and the surreal and would get lost in them from time to time, but never this way. The vacuous expression, the glassy stare, had never failed to put Denmark on edge since it came to be in the later half of the millennium. He would try to hide his concern, or attempt to brush it off with a joke or a boast, but it had always scared him.

Because it was all his fault.

“... Nei… Kára, let the kids go… No. No boom ‘n no bam… Ja, but don’t let them in either… Greit I’m coming out… Fy flate…”

Whatever hassle followed seemed to happen in a whirl for Denmark, whose drowsiness is creeping into his head. Nothing to blame, though, seeing as it was already one in the morning. Norway had gone out to verify and mediate, while through the phone he could barely make out something alike “That was a scary marshmallow!”, or “I thought only Sea– Peter would be naive enough to not know what is considered an invasion— of privacy… but apparently superhuman strength and idiocy both run in the family.”, or “If it’s something that urgent, and you are that sincere… 12 cups of coffee. 6 black, 2 espressos, a chestnut latte, a macchiato, a mocha and a cold brew with triple citrus and extra vanilla cream, two pinches of cinnamon. Hot. The largest size you can get, got it? 1 pm. Here. No knocking. No screaming. No fighting Kára. Yes texting. Now I got a room booked for you… Not what you should be used to but that’s what you get for INVADING ME in the dead of night… Ja of course you pay for it JONES NOW FUCK OFF MY LAWN! KJØSS KATTA!”

* * *

It wasn’t often Norway raised his voice towards anyone beyond the Nordics, at least not anymore, but it wasn’t every day you get to order that unpalatable child around either.

And damn did that feel good.

The Norwegian nation sighed, absentmindedly bid the troll goodnight, and thanked her for her immense help for the day, especially for the past few hours. He hadn’t expected the silencing spell and the magic circle to work so well, considering it was cast nearly a century ago. Nevertheless, not only did it keep the fuss at a safe periphery from the cottage itself, but also kept the noise away. He had forgotten the magnitude of its power. Yet, then again, with the emergence of all those fancy modern technologies and parvenu problems, it had been a long time since he needed, or had time for sharpening, such large-scale rituals.

 _I’ve forgotten so much, come to think of it._ Norway thought to himself as he trudged back towards the wooden structure he called home, the one wayward curl bobbing pensively by the back of his head. His mind raced through countless archived memories in the past thousand years, recalling things. Things he was born with, things born without, and others he picked up, or gradually forsaken, along the way.

_Do you regret it?_ He remembered Sealand’s innocent question, the summer he “accidentally” got hold of the Nordics’ old diaries. _If you could start over, would you still have killed her? Abandoned them? Stayed? Left? I don’t know… all those things?_

 _I do not know regret._ He remembered telling the micronation. _You can feel guilty, or be ashamed, or even penitent as much as you want to, but one can never regret. Life’s too long to leave room for that. We’ve come a long way and even farther to go. The ship that burdens itself with every past anchor only wrecks itself. The current flows on, the oars row on, and so should the vessel. Ja, it wasn’t all good and a damned good part of it was dreadful night, but changing it wouldn’t make it any better. Instead, we learn from it and move on, and make better decisions thereafter._

_So no. I regret nothing._

The lights were still on when he returned to the warm abode, and his lillebror was still sleeping, along with the majestic Yngve, elegant as ever. The only difference was the Dane with his arms on the countertop, and his snoring head above them. The Norwegian smiled to himself as he cleared the counter of empty beer bottles, which he would then clean and find some use for afterwards, one way or another. He quietly creeped upstairs, careful not to wake anyone (while artfully dodging a sleepwalking Finland), and brought down three large quilts, and a tiny cot. Setting the cot at the foot of the couch, he gently picked up his pet and set it within. One blanket surely hadn’t been enough for Iceland, still recovering from his hellish fever, his hands cold as ever, so one was for him. Norway then made his way to the open kitchen, where he wrapped Denmark in another one of the quilts, his movements swift and spry to avoid too much movement, knowing his companion’s sensitivity. At last, he found himself beside his brother again, fashioning a makeshift nest of cushions upon his armchair, into which he curled himself, along with his own quilt. With a snap of fingers he had the lights flicked off, leaving only a candle burning by the corridor, in case someone had midnight urgencies, or really in case Fin’s behaviour just now was a prelude to another traumatic episode.

He took in the mellow scent of pine, intertwined with angelica and mint and dill and bay and the favourite coffee blends of every Nordic country (He never really needed those twelve cups bought, with all the necessary ingredients within hand’s reach). No, it’s really not much, but it is him. And them. 

And that is home.

_No. I have no regrets._ He mused, and let sleep take over himself, a lingering wonder as to whether America would really come back later in the day, with those twelve cups of good sweet coffee.


End file.
